A Conversation With Mr Lassiter
by Elske
Summary: So, you know when Jules is throwing Lassie that surprise party and she phones his mom? What if she tracks down his dad while she's at it. Genfic, Carlton slash if you squint. Rated for language.


[[Author's Notes:

This is, in part, inspired by conversation fmapreshwab and I were having about the enigma that is Carlton's Dad. It's pretty clear that he wasn't much of a presence – did he run off? I came up with the idea that he was a disillusioned disabled Vietnam vet, and so that's the version of Carlton's dad I came up with here.

This is a what-if…you know that time when Juliet phoned Carlton's mom to get information? This fic is a what-if she took it a step farther and went to visit Mr Lassiter in his hospital.

Enjoy. &hearts, Elske.]]

Mind if I smoke?

There aren't many vices left to a dying man, you know, and they're good enough here to allow me this. Thank you. Although you'd better not sit too close, you never know when they're going to do random drug tests on the force, am I right!

You said you were a friend of Booker's on the phone. Sorry, a friend of _Carlton_. He told me the last time he was here that I was the only person still allowed to call him that, and I took that as a compliment. He doesn't come to visit often, but do you blame him, honestly, this place is depressing as all hell.

He's a good boy, though, my Booker. You know why I call him that? He was just a little thing and Marian and I were both so preoccupied: I was just home from Nam and Junior – that's my older son, Collin Junior and he never comes to visit – little Collin was a handful and then there's my Booker, toddling around teaching himself how to read at three years old. He's a genius, my Book, but you're his friend so you know that already.

He's my good son. I told my boys, whatever you do don't go into the service. And what does Junior do? He drops out of high school, joins the Marines, gets shipped right off to Grenada in '83, and you know what? He doesn't like war, he goes AWOL, never took any responsibility a day in his life, dear Junior. He takes after his mother. I like to think Book takes after me, but that's hardly a compliment, ha! I'm a crazy old man in an institution, but I was young once, you know.

Hush, girl, you're too diplomatic, I am too old. I was almost fifty when my daughter was born! That's too old to be having children, but she was the light of my life, my Lauren, and it's a shame I was too fucked up to take care of her proper. But Book stepped in, like he always does; Marian run off and Lauren just a kid and me too fucked up to take care of any of them.

I'm sorry. I shouldn't be using language like this in front of a lady. I used to be better at decorum, before I knew I was dying and then I just said fuck it. Fuck it fuck it fuck it.

Oh? Leukemia, and I deserve it, quite frankly. Don't look at me like that with those eyes – did you learn that trick from Booker? Just a coincidence? No, I deserved it. I flew helicopters, I was an agent of disaster and disease. An Orange Agent, hahahahaha. Operation Ranch Oh, no, it isn't funny, but I'm a dying man so I can laugh at myself. No matter how many pills, how much scotch, how many joints, it doesn't stop me from the nightmares. They told us it was harmless to people, but we all knew better, didn't we? I did. So those same chemicals that killed the plants the trees the pretty girls the babies, all the babies – I saw a picture once of a baby like a mermaid, no arms no legs just a head and a tail and I was responsible.

Book's lucky, I guess. Some of the guys, their babies came out wrong too, but I was blessed with my Carlton and my Lauren long after the chemicals seeped into my skin my bones my blood my brain…

…I'm sorry. I'm rambling. Did I tell you I don't get many visitors? Now you're probably understanding why.

You're sweet, girl. You're too sweet. You're sure you and my son are just…yes, I thought as much. Pity. I think you'd make any man a good daughter. I'm not surprised though, and it has nothing to do with you, it's just, knowing Book.

Is he a good cop? I'd always imagined he would be.

He got into some trouble, and – I'm not going to elaborate, no, that's my son's business but I will say we were so glad to see him married and that I wasn't surprised when he told me the marriage was over.

Ha, enigmatic? You flatter me again, sweet girl.

But I always figured he'd make a good cop. And one of my friends from basic, he'd worked his way up real high in the force, and so I called him up, nudged my boy in that direction. The two things he loves more than anything else are guns and justice and that job has both. Guns and justice and solving puzzles, I suppose you're like that too, being his partner?

Just the justice and the puzzles, eh? Hahahaha. You're cute, kid.

As far as I know, you're the only friend he's got, you and Lala: did I tell you she's in film school, my little girl, she's going to be famous someday and it was all Book's doing that paid for it, you know, with his mother gone and my veteran's pension barely covers the cost of living here.

He told me once that those Buddhist hippie gooks knew what they were talking about: that all suffering comes to clinging to things you desire. So I think he does it on purpose. Like I said, he was in a pretty bad place when he was a kid, once, and I recognized the demons that hovered all around, like. Half of mine and half of his mothers, all waiting to destroy him. But we picked him up and dusted him off and set him on the right path.

It's like I said earlier, Junior takes after his mother and Book takes after me. I wish he didn't but he does, because it's so easy to slip into dark places, get trapped in the walls in your head.

I'm glad he has someone like you looking out for him. Watch over him. Tell him it's safe to open his heart – no, I'm not suggesting he open it to you, I don't think you're his type, for all that you're a sweet beautiful young thing.

He's a good boy, my son.

Oh dear. Here comes the bosslady.

Yes, I know. Yes I know. I'm sorry, have you got an ashtray? Fine. Here. I'm sorry, visiting hours are over, but you can come back anytime you like, pretty thing.

Have I mentioned I don't get many visitors?


End file.
